


Companions (+ Fallout 4 Characters) React to the Sole Survivor's Favorite Christmas Song

by tea_petty



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Christmas, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 01:35:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: It's that time of year again in the Commonwealth.





	Companions (+ Fallout 4 Characters) React to the Sole Survivor's Favorite Christmas Song

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

The snow was floating down with an almost ethereal glory when Sole reached the Third Rail. The streets were still, and quiet – a most singular occurrence in Goodneighbor. Though, perhaps not during the holiday season; Sole wouldn’t know, this was their first one since the big defrost.

The only light came from the lampposts out on the streets. Sole had tucked their pipboy away into their rucksack earlier – the thought of ringing in Christmas day with just the sad, dismal glow of their pipboy screen was just too depressing.

They took one look up and felt the sharpness of the crystals land on their face, before melting into a chilled wetness. They wondered if the snows of ash and dust had looked similarly beautiful in a nuclear winter, when bathed by the ghastly, atomic glow of nuclear radiation. A brisk wind passed through, especially abrasive as it ricocheted off the sides of the brick buildings, and tugged agitatedly at their coat, as if to say; _get inside before you freeze to death, shit for brains!_

Sole tugged their coat tighter around themselves, without believing it would help, before pulling open the door to the Third Rail, and stepping in.

The warmth inside was near searing against their chilled skin, and Sole descended the stairs carefully, lest the rapidly melting snow at their shoes send them down the narrow stairs, expedited. Ham hadn’t been at the door tonight, and when Sole rounded the corner, they saw why.

Magnolia was singing, as usual, the winking sequence at her red dress looking especially festive when seen beneath tendrils of garland snaking the perimeter of the main room, sprigs of holly dangling every so often. Ham had taken a seat at the base of the stairs; still a physical authoritative presence, but too enthralled with Magnolia’s holiday set to dare be disturbed for the usual riffraff that wandered in.

Turns out, even the gnarliest Wastelanders could be domesticated for the sake of Christmas.

Somehow, this made Sole feel worse.

They slunk to the bar, keeping their head low under the pretense of trying to be as least intrusive as possible, as they weaved through people to find an empty stool. 

Whitechapel Charlie whizzed over to them, and Sole nodded towards the array of top-shelf bottles behind, whirling their finger in the universal gesture for; ‘another round’. Pre-war, top shelf was the expensive juice. The stuff reserved for anniversaries, and career moves, and sad, rich people who drank alone because it was trendy. Here, it meant the stuff that kicked like an ass.

Charlie returned with a shot of something dark and reeking so hard it made Sole’s nose sting. Sole shook some caps loose from their coat and set them loose at the countertop.

“Oi, top shelf ain’t that top here, mate. It’s only about five caps per shot.”

Charlie’s optometric cameras buzzed quietly as they zoomed in on the pile of caps at the table – a Mr. Handy’s version of ‘eyeballing’, Sole reckoned. 

“Then keep ‘em coming,” Sole muttered, before throwing their head back, and clearing the shot glass.

It burned going down and warmed them from the inside. That was the Christmas spirits.

Charlie said nothing as he left but returned a few moments later with the glass refilled with the same, stinking, liquid.

The hours meant very little to Sole, who skittered past the clock like a mouse. An eternity could’ve passed with them planted firmly on the barstool, with only Charlie’s return trips, filled shot glass in hand, to mark the passage of time.

Sole was numb. And dizzy. Like they were watching their life as a movie, only for the image on the screen to shiver and shudder with technical difficulties.

When Magnolia introduced her last song for the night, Sole barely registered that she was talking to them at first, be it because of the hoots and scattered applause from the audience, or their own groggy haze.

But their name – the sound of someone else saying it being something that was sorely missed on a night like tonight – paired with the introduction of Sole’s favorite Christmas song was enough to steady them enough to pay attention for at least one more drink.

“Our final song for tonight is a pre-war, Christmas classic for my dear friend, who I hope is having a _wonderful Christmas time._”

Someone whistled clear through the audience, and Sole felt themselves flush, though no one could tell behind the ruddiness of their drunken fervor. 

_“The moon is right, __the spirit’s up, we’re here tonight, and that’s enough._”

Sole looked to the topped off glass before them, before deciding against it, and turning to face Magnolia. Her eyes were already fixed on them, a cat’s smile curved at her perfect lips.

“_Simply having a wonderful Christmas time,”_

Sole’s arm rested at the counter, and they leaned into it. It was a great song; they’d loved it. Something heavy settled in them though, pulling downwards, and their throat closed, as if there was a tiny pulley system inside them, cinching it shut.

“_Oh, Christmas time,”_

Too soon, the song ended, and Magnolia basked in the lingering note as a round of applause didn’t give her a chance to wait for it.

Patrons stood as they cheered enthusiastically, the rupture of their appreciation further punctuated by the spare hoot, or holler of appreciation. Sole hazarded a glance to the old clock sitting on the crooked shelf behind Charlie.

The twitching second hand indicated it still worked, and though the tiny, black marks swam before Sole’s eyes, they could make out the time within a ten-minute degree of accuracy.

_1: 35_

It was Christmas morning.

Through the haze of Sole’s drunkenness, they could feel the twinge in their chest and gather a flash of red as it slid onto the barstool beside them. The rest of the Third Rail seemed to be clearing out now that the music was done for the night, but not Magnolia.

She showed not even a trace of hesitation as she brushed her hand gently atop Sole’s arm.

“Merry Christmas stranger,” she smiled softly. It juxtaposed with her sultry lipstick in a way that was so distinctively, enticingly Magnolia. “Fancy some company?”

Sole wanted to bob their head in confirmation. Wanted to tell her that more than anything, they needed company, and more so tonight than on any other night. Instead, they slumped sideways, coming dangerously close to slipping from their stool.

Magnolia laughed softly and sidled closer to Sole. If they needed it, she’d catch their fall.

“Why don’t you finish up, and we can go get cozy at my place?”

Sole didn’t need anything more of an invitation. They slid off their barstool now purposefully and took a few wobbly steps. Magnolia slipped herself under Sole’s arm, leading them gently to the Third Rail’s stairs.

“Night Charlie,” she called out.

“Night Mags.”

Then he was alone, with half a glass of sherry.


End file.
